


Sex (And Other Human Intimacies)

by paint_me_a_revolution



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Flustered Aziraphale, M/M, Tasteful discussions of sex, Teasing Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_me_a_revolution/pseuds/paint_me_a_revolution
Summary: "It shouldn’t have hurt, it really shouldn’t have, because Aziraphale was an angel and Crowley was a demon and it didn’t matter what he thought..."Wherein an angel and a demon wonder if the humans might not be onto something, after all.





	Sex (And Other Human Intimacies)

     It wasn’t like he’d _meant_ to bring it up. It was a slip of the tongue, an accident, and now Crowley was looking at Aziraphale like he’d sprouted two heads. “You want to have _sex?”_ the demon asked, leaning so far back in his chair that the front legs lifted off of the ground. “ _You?_ Want to have _sex?”_

     Aziraphale blushed. “Well, not when you put it that way,” he snapped, wishing he’d never brought it up in the first place. Crowley eyed him over the top of his sunglasses, tongue pushing against his bared teeth.

     “What way, Angel?” the demon asked, grinning wider.

     “You make it sound so _crude!”_ Aziraphale paused.

     “Would you rather I call it ‘ _making love’?”_ Crowley said, wrinkling his nose and making clear through every facet of his pose and manner exactly what he thought of the phrase. He sat forward with a _snap_ of the chair legs. “What’s gotten into you, anyway? That sounds like something I’d cook up, not you.”

     Aziraphale looked down at his hands. _Don’t pout,_ he told himself firmly, but he could already feel his bottom lip starting to poke out petulantly. It shouldn’t have hurt, it really shouldn’t have, because Aziraphale was an angel and Crowley was a demon and it didn’t _matter_ what he thought; still, Aziraphale couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something wrong. Maybe _he_ was wrong. “Forget it,” he said.

 

     Neither of them brought it up again for another twenty years. In that time, Crowley had burned down a couple of churches and Aziraphale had built them back up again (“Really, Crowley,” he’d said after the third, “enough is enough.”). They were standing together by the river, throwing grapes to the ducks, when Crowley mentioned it.

     “So,” he said, tapping his fingers against the wooden railing. “Making love.”

     Aziraphale’s stomach flip-flopped. “We’re not talking about this,” he murmured, pursing his lips and trying to look like he had some authority in the matter. “Crowley, please.”

     Crowley _tsk-_ ed his annoyance. “I want to,” he pressed. “It’s an interesting idea, you know. An angel and a demon…whole world might explode or something.”

     “You’re being obnoxious!” Aziraphale protested. He threw his last grape to the ducks and turned away, crossing his arms. What he wouldn’t give to knock that stupid top hat of Crowley’s into the water. Would serve him right, Aziraphale thought. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

     Snake eyes narrowed, Crowley regarded Aziraphale with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?” Aziraphale asked.

     “Don’t get all tetchy, Angel.” Crowley’s tongue poked out from between his teeth, like it had a tendency to do when he was amused. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “Was just…thinking out loud.”

     “No you weren’t,” Aziraphale protested. “You were bothering me! Go away.”

     “If that’s what you want.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to take it back, but Crowley was gone in a puff of smoke.

 

     He brought it up again after the Apocalypse That Wasn’t. They were sitting on their favourite bench, racing against the sun to finish their ice creams, when Crowley looked up and said, “You still interested, Angel?”

     Though his heart was hammering out a foxtrot, Aziraphale said, “Interested in what?”

     “You know.” Crowley smiled, a full, warm smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up. “Sex. Intercourse. _Making love.”_

     “I…oh.” He nearly dropped his ice-lolly in shock. “I thought you—“

     “Me, nothing,” Crowley said, laughing. “You were the one putting words in my mouth all those years.” He paused, with something akin to fondness glowing behind his yellow eyes, and then added, “I don’t think I’d mind it, really, if I did it with you.”

     “Really?” Aziraphale’s face was hot, but his chest swelled with affection. “Well, then.”

     “Well then.” Crowley leapt up, shoving the last bit of ice cream in his mouth as he did. “Come on, Angel. Let’s go see what the fuss is all about, shall we?”

 


End file.
